


Machina

by BigJBonk



Series: Ex Machina [3]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Dystopia (robot dystopia?), Everything is shit, Everything sucks for everyone, Gen, Gray being an asshole, Mal being sad, Many many robots, Origin Story, Prequel, Robots, Robots being assholes, Robots dying, Robots fighting, Time Progression, onsehot, shitty tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 23:04:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10818612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BigJBonk/pseuds/BigJBonk
Summary: Prequel to Ex Machina. Before Mal was Mal, he was SC-37. And before he'd been freed from Gray's tyranny, he was right in the midst of it. He had to learn to be compliant to survive, just like many others. Unlike them, he got lucky.





	Machina

**Author's Note:**

> Finally, Mal gets an origin story! It felt so weird referring to him as an "it" again. :p It's a bit of a long one, so I hope you sit tight and enjoy!

_..._

_..._

_Designation SC-37 activating..._

_Power capacity: 30 percent..._

_50 percent..._

_70 percent..._

_90 percent..._

_Full capacity reached._

_Errors/Malfunctions: None._

_Current orders: None._

_Awaiting command..._

There were three things SC-37 knew upon activating for the first time. One: Its Maker was Gray Mann. Two: It was a first-unit Scoutbot, among two hundred and twenty-four others. Three: Its purpose was to destroy whatever Mann Co. facility it was sent to.

SC-37 blinked once, its head turning in a full circle to take in its surroundings. The others in the unit had similar ideas. They were tall, lanky, and... BLU. No, BLU was a name. But there was a color associated with it. Blue. They were tall, lanky, and blue. They were perfectly identical.

SC-37 caught the empty gaze of the Scoutbot next to it, SC-36. They didn't speak. They weren't programmed to talk to each other.

The Scoutbot didn't know how much time passed before it received its first order. It had no concept of time. It just knew that time had passed.

_Current orders: Proceed to the facility._

All Scoutbots straightened almost as one as they got their first order. They didn't question how they received it. They broke from the unit in rows, filing out of the door at the front of the room. They'd never seen anything beyond A-Block, but they knew the way all the same. The location came to them naturally.

Once there, the Scoutbots were completely lost. Around them was all manner of machinery. Some with fire, some with little sharp things, and all with mechanical arms in some shape or another. The Scoutbots waited for their next order as the previous one erased itself, but nothing came. They hummed and buzzed with... something, as they eyed the mysterious machines around them.

Deciding that a lack of orders meant that they should wait, that's exactly what the majority of the Scoutbots did. However, one curious Scoutbot, SC-19, chose to approach the closest of the machines, unknowingly stepping on a rectangular pad in the ground. One of the arms swung around with a long, blocky object in its grip, forcing SC-19 to jump back to avoid being hit. Then, the arm dropped the object on the ground. _Gun,_ SC-37 concluded.

After waiting to make sure nothing else unexpected was going to happen, SC-19 picked up the gun, inspecting it. It looked at the rest of the unit, eyes alight. After this discovery, the other Scoutbots explored the rest of the room. They wanted to find something, too. Many of the machines did nothing, or at least nothing the Scoutbots could influence or interact with. Only two other machines responded to them, almost identical to the one that gave SC-19 its gun. However, one handed out long metallic objects- _Bat_ \- while the other gave away small blue cans- _Bonk!._

Within minutes, every Scoutbot had at least one weapon. Some had two. A few had all three. All of them were performing various taunts, filling the room with chatter.

SC-37 was just completing a spin when it received an order that made it stop. _Step forward and accept weapon._ 37 looked around and saw that the others had received it as well. They looked at each other with the something again. Maybe they had been supposed to wait. Was it bad that they didn't? The order deleted itself almost as soon as it had appeared, only to be replaced by another. _Proceed to A-Block._

The Scoutbots didn't dare to stray after that. In the same order that they came in, they filed out, not even so much as glancing down the different paths that branched off from their own. Still carrying their weapons, they sorted themselves into a square, just like they had been when they first activated. They saw that there was now a second unit of Scoutbots in the room, just to their left, but their presence went largely unacknowledged. If their Maker hadn't yet willed it, then it must be against the rules to stare further.

Without any sort of prompt or warning, they all shut down.

(...)

_..._

_..._

_Remote activation initiated._

_Rebooting..._

_Full capacity reached._

_Errors/Malfu-_

_Current orders: Proceed to Teleporter B._

SC-37 hadn't even completed its automatic diagnostic check when the command presented itself. It snapped to attention, emerging from its place in the third row with its bat and its Bonk!. At least ten other units were present, with every other Scoutbot wearing some sort of hat; they appeared to be weapon-coordinated. Out of all of them, only a few dozen other Scoutbots were to accompany SC-37. They all knew where to find Teleporter B, so they went.

One Scoutbot from another unit was obviously broken. It kept bouncing on its heels, stepping out of formation to ask, "Yo whassup?" to whatever robot was closest. It would approach each Scoutbot, always asking, "Yo whassup? Yo whassup? Yo whassup?" When it asked SC-37, the latter stared as if the former had legs welded in place of its arms. That didn't seem to discourage it, for it just moved on. 37 knew it wasn't going to last long.

Once SC-37 reached the Teleporter, it didn't hesitate to step onto the blue platform. In seconds, it was whisked away to a place that looked very similar to where it had just been. It hopped off, knowing it would explode if it didn't, and followed its new order: _Proceed to the Carrier Tank._ Amazingly, it knew where that was as well.

It didn't take long to reach the Carrier Tank, and SC-37 found that it was nearly as large as A-Block, if not possibly larger. Inside was at least four units-worth of robots, most of models it had never seen but recognized for what they were. The Scoutbot from before approached and greeted a Sniperbot that was standing idly. Surprisingly, it looked up and replied, "Okay, mate." SC-37 found itself staring.

Moments later, the Carrier started up with a lurch, and a few of the robots fell over. They then scrambled to their feet, avoiding the other robots' stares. Nobody moved for the rest of the trip.

After some time with only the roar of the motor, the Carrier stopped. There was a series of clanks and clicks, and the door in front of them slowly opened with a loud hiss. Even when it had opened up to a ramp heading outside, none of the robots moved. SC-37 could see the tall white buildings of Rottenburg.

_Current orders: Kill the mercenaries._

SC-37 ran outside, eager to try its new weapons out, followed by many of the other robots. The Scoutbots in the group ran ahead, taking almost no time to reach the evacuated town.

The moment they touched down, an explosion rocked the ground beneath their feet, decimating most and sending the survivors flying. 37 was thrown feet into the air, crashing to the ground hard enough to send screws scattering. It tried to get to its feet, but one leg had been completely blown off, and the other couldn't possibly support any weight in its condition. The Scoutbot's senses were flooded with the sounds of screams, explosions, and gunfire. Blood, limbs, and mechanical parts flew everywhere, completely obscuring the ground and everything on it. There was something wrong with SC-37, it knew it. It was a... a... it didn't know. But even if its legs hadn't been destroyed, it couldn't have stood up. Not as long as the sounds were still there.

After a few immeasurable hours, the noise finally died down, the mercenaries' laughter echoing between the houses as they headed back to their base. There were a few tense minutes where there was no noise at all. But then, forms started to pick themselves up from the rubble. 37 barely recognized them as other robots. The few that had gotten out were digging through the remains. 37 didn't know what they were doing or why they were doing it, but it didn't want to be left where it was. "Help!"

A Soldierbot jolted upright, head turning to the source of the voice. It saw the vivid blue of 37's eyes, and ran over to dig it out. When it realized what condition the Scoutbot was in, it called "Medic!" and hefted it over its shoulder, running as fast as it was able back to the Carrier Tank.

The two made it on safely, as did a few other pairs or even trios of damaged bots. No sooner had the last Pyrobot and Heavybot arrived than the hatch started to pull itself shut, closing with another hiss. In a matter of seconds, it was moving again, carrying far fewer passengers than it had delivered.

SC-37 didn't remember returning to the Rottenburg station, nor did it recall riding the Teleporter back to HQ. The next thing it knew, it was on both feet, with a Medicbot all but latched onto it. It was back in A-Block. Seeing that its legs were in working order, 37 said, "Thanks, Doc." The Medicbot's mouth opened, and it nodded, turning off its Medigun and rolling over to another injured Scoutbot.

Just then, it struck SC-37 that there was a _Medicbot_ in A-Block. Supposedly, those belonged in F-Block. And it wasn't the only one, either. Each unit had close to a dozen Medicbots, moving around their respective units and healing whoever needed it. 37 didn't know why there were Medicbots stationed in A-Block, but it figured they wouldn't be there if they weren't supposed to be.

When it was later instructed to leave A-Block so that it could refuel, it found that its newly-repaired legs didn't work the way they were supposed to. They moved just fine, but they operated with a delayed reaction time, causing it to collide with walls or other robots. It quickly learned to stop or turn before it really needed to, unless it wanted to get caught. Its CPU didn't recognize that there was an issue, so the Maker probably didn't know about it yet. For some reason, 37 didn't want him to find out.

Days passed, and while SC-37 hadn't been sent out again, the battles were starting to wear on the other robots. Many, like 37, had trouble with coordinating their limbs. Some had lost the ability to see or hear. Still others were unable to properly speak, if they could speak at all. This could be expressed through stuttering, improper dialogue, screeching, or dead silence.

Over time, the robots with more obvious problems started disappearing.

At first, nobody thought much of it; a robot prone to spasms simply wouldn't make it in a battle, after all. But as more and more robots disappeared without warning, some of them started to notice that the vanishing robots were being specifically summoned, not sent into battle. So they began to talk.

It had started with that one Scoutbot- SC-732, 37 learned- and the Sniperbot, SN-115. They had been among the first to realize that they could use voice commands at times other than when they were programmed to, and others began to try it for themselves. Some took it a step further, cutting speech short or putting words from different phrases together to make brand new sentences. The oldest robots had figured out how to manipulate speech patterns to form entirely new words, and no two did it in quite the same way.

It was in this way that robots started to form and express more complex ideas. Emotions, desires, expectations, even suspicions. A growing number were verbally expressing the latter whenever possible. These robots were quickly silenced.

SC-37 could now put a name to what it had thought was wrong with it. A feeling. Fear. It didn't dare to try pronouncing the word.

Robots started to become disobedient. Most refused to fight. Some got into disputes with other robots, or did the exact opposite of what their orders told them to do. A few even outright cursed their Maker. Any robot that was caught doing any of these things was swiftly dealt with.

Finally, one Soldierbot got sick of it all. SL-431 began sneaking out of B-Block, scouting any robot that it knew hated working for Gray as much as it did. The Soldierbot was patient, always behaving as instructed and never speaking out of turn. It took several weeks, but eventually it had amassed an army of no less than two thousand robots. They waited for their Maker to send out a large group of robots, leaving him largely defenseless, then scraped as much paint off of their chests as possible before charging for his office.

Unfortunately for them, Gray had long been expecting an attack. When SL-431's robots swarmed the halls, the Mann had prepared an army of his own, made up of the tens of thousands that had remained loyal to him. The battle lasted for a disappointing two hours.

Despite the easy victory, Gray was terrified that something like this would happen again. He shut the robots down, permanently deactivating those that he felt had any intention of defying him. He halted production, spending days changing the unbuilt robots' programming until all they had were their orders. As an afterthought, he added an unnecessarily large hailing mechanic so that they would never have the capacity to come up with their own ideas. He constructed several new "safe rooms" throughout the base, and installed cameras wherever he could. He admitted to himself that it was all rather paranoid of him, but being paranoid was better than being dead.

After three months of revisions, eight thousand of the original robots remained, outnumbered by fourteen thousand of the newer models, the numbers still growing.

The older robots were quickly introduced to the "custom order." These were orders given to one specific robot rather than to a large group. These robots were rarely, if ever, sent into battle anymore, instead given tasks where they could easily be watched, such as patrol duty or overseeing production.

SC-37 was tasked with operating one particularly nasty bit of machinery. No one exactly knew what had happened to robots before the Rebellion, but 37 figured it out when a struggling Demobot was thrown onto the belt, screaming as its innards were pulled out of its back with mechanical arms before being literally torn apart. The following hundreds of times were just as horrifying as that first, but 37 couldn't stop. Not unless it wanted to be the one on that belt.

Over time, Gray learned that certain robots were better suited to certain tasks, with a few individual exceptions. Medicbots were good with anything with moving parts, thanks to their deft hands; Soldierbots and Pyrobots cleaned up well after a bad wave; and Spybots and Scoutbots made for wonderful surveillance systems. The same could even be said of the newer models in some cases, though not with nearly the same efficiency. The one thing the robots just couldn't figure out how to do, it seemed, was repair the machines that got rusty or broke down.

For this reason, the first Mecha Engineers were built. However, their development was not an easy or productive process. The first batch of thirty could only swing their wrenches, which didn't work as well as it would with a Sentry or Dispenser. The next unit, this time of just ten, could only make basic fixes, such as tightening a screw or knowing when something needed to be oiled. No amount of programming could give the Mecha Engineers the logic or reasoning to properly diagnose and repair the machines, and Gray came to the reluctant conclusion that he would have to remove the hailing mechanic, or at least reduce the size of it. This simple solution didn't bring about any immediate change, but eventually the Mecha Engineers figured things out on their own, and those that didn't were sent off to fight.

After their introduction, the Mecha Engineers were largely given upkeep and operation duty, and SC-37 was instead ordered to patrol the base, which it was beyond thankful for. Anything was better than actively killing the robots it had worked with for so many months. It would gladly do whatever was asked of it, so long as it never had to go into that room again.

Whenever 37 reached 15 percent power, it would be dismissed so that a Medicbot could give it a charge back in A-Block before returning to work. However, that wasn't strictly what it did. While most of the Medicbots in A-Block had been replaced by their newer counterparts, a couple of older ones had managed to find their way back. 37 knew how to find one of them. After making sure that neither of the two cameras were running or angled towards it, the Scoutbot would blink in a certain pattern, which only one Medicbot ever responded to. SC-37 and M-146 enjoyed their short, silent conversations, even if they rarely had anything to talk about. It was nice to be able to rebel in their own little way.

(...)

The Spybots started disappearing.

News of this spread quickly, thanks to the chattier robots, but even if they hadn't said anything, it was hard not to notice an entire series vanishing in just days. This caused massive panic amongst the other robots. They feared that the Sniperbots would be next, then the Medicbots, and so on until every last robot was dead- the machines' purpose was common knowledge by then.

Then, to everyone's surprise, the Spybots all came back at once. The others were confused but relieved. It didn't take long, though, for them to realize that they weren't... the same. Many hadn't changed at all, but some that had become known for their optimistic or even cheerful demeanor were suddenly quiet, stony. No one knew what had happened, but no one wanted to ask. They were probably better off not knowing.

Two weeks later, a Spybot saw a Demobot sneak into E-Block to meet up with a Heavybot. Minutes later, five other Spybots appeared out of seemingly nowhere and captured them. It wasn't long before they were nothing more than a mess of parts at the bottom of a fire pit.

News of the event spread slowly, but it had a drastic effect on the entire base. No robot dared to do anything they weren't explicitly ordered to do, not with the Spybots being (as the rumor went) reprogrammed. Thanks to their ability to cloak, disguise, and mimic any other robot, nowhere was safe from Gray's watchful eyes.

SC-37 and M-146 continued to have their brief conversations, but not nearly as often or for as long. Spybots didn't normally come into A-Block unless they had something to be suspicious about, but the two robots still kept their gestures to a minimum. Over time, though, M-146 communicated less and less, worried that one time would be the time they would get caught. Hand gestures were reduced to nods, then to blinking, and finally to nothing at all.

SC-37 silently became a nervous wreck.

Weeks wore on, and nearly any form of expression had been suppressed. The more intelligent robots were nearly indistinguishable from their newer and shinier peers. Sure, there were quite a few that still talked freely, but only those that clearly expressed their intent or joy in serving their Maker. They almost never went punished, and their fearlessness earned them the more important or sensitive jobs Gray had to offer. The others started thinking of them as another set of leaders, even if most of them had developed an annoyingly inflated ego.

They were just one of many other things to fear.

(...)

_Current orders: Proceed to the Carrier Tank._

It happened in the middle of patrol duty. SC-37 froze in its tracks, shaking. Older robots were never sent to the Tanks. Instances of it happening were beyond rare, and the few that were sent away never came back. It was possible to make it back alive, which 37 knew firsthand, but lately, no robots had. If 37 was being sent off, it was almost guaranteed that it wasn't going to survive.

The Scoutbot started walking, desperately hoping that there was some mistake, that it would get a new, completely different order. It had done everything right, it didn't want to die. Its life may have been miserable, but anything had to be better than getting blown up, or shot down, or having the power drained out of it, or whatever else the mercenaries could think to do to a robot.

The Carrier Tank had more robots than the one at the Rottenburg base had had. The Tank had more Heavybots, giants, and Spybots than 37 had ever seen in one place, and the thought was horrifying. Aside from some of the Spybots, every robot was in idle mode. They were all riding worry-free, but all the Scoutbot could think about was that all it had was a bat and a Bonk! can full of coolant.

After riding for close to two hours, the Carrier Tank lurched to a halt. SC-37 shifted from foot to foot, but the hatch had yet to open up.

_Custom order: Deliver the bomb._

SC-37 flinched when a robotic arm unbolted the pack off of its back, replacing the moderate weight with a much larger and heavier bomb. The Scoutbot buzzed with foreboding. It could guess why the other robots hadn't come back.

Finally, the Tank door opened with a loud hiss, and more Scoutbots and Pyrobots than anyone could be bothered to count surged forward, pushing 37 out and forcing it to follow their path. Terrified, the Scoutbot ran, pushing hard against the ground and running as fast as the bomb would allow. In just a few minutes, it reached the ghost town, joints screaming in protest as it leapt from a 20-foot ledge.

Events transpired much like they had at Rottenburg. In front of 37, bombs exploded from beneath the Pyrobots' feet, the Scoutbot just barely avoiding the resulting shrapnel. One thing it didn't expect, though, was for an unknown projectile to soar overhead, striking it in the head and leaving it covered in a strange, slightly sticky fluid. It gummed up its joints as the stuff seeped into whatever it could reach, including the unsealed segments of the bomb. To the Scoutbot's horror, it sparked, then started beeping.

Panicked, SC-37 ran from side to side, trying to find some sort of cover from the bomb bolted to its back. Seeing that the mercenaries were distracted by a small group of giant Demoknights, it ducked to its right, hiding behind a small building. It rotated its torso so that the bomb was on its chest, and it ripped the device off of itself. It threw its weapons to the side, ripping a panel off of the bomb and tearing into the wires inside. It didn't know what it was doing; it just knew that it didn't want to die, it _couldn't_ die. Long after the beeping had fizzled and died out, the Scoutbot continued to frantically hollow out the bomb, still hearing the repetitive noise.

Unbeknownst to it, the sounds of the battle around it had died out, leaving it with only the crackle of sparks. 37 was in a trance, tearing the bomb apart even when there was nothing left inside of it to tear out.

Eventually, though, it did look up, just in time to see the dumbfounded face of the RED Engineer.

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, this one was quite a doozy. And I learned that robots can apparently scar. Yippee!
> 
> So, obviously some of the details in this conflict with EM, especially its earlier chapters. These inconsistencies will be fixed if/when I rewrite it.
> 
> Also, don't forget, I'll be taking requests for oneshots on the robots you want to know more about! Who was the Soldierbot from the beginning? Why are the Spybots so unusual? How did SC-62 lose its voice? If you want it answered, I'll be writing the requests on a when-I-feel-like-it basis.
> 
> Stay tuned for the EM sequel (title pending)!


End file.
